Self Philanthropists
by Elaine Dawkins
Summary: Fate gives Charley Bates a run for his money. Literally. Includes Dodge, Fagin, et al.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

As the candles faded down to a dim, pale light, the boys sat opposite one another, eyes locked, mouths grinning. The older of the two smirked as he flipped over the card he held in his hand. He placed it down on the table and then leant back in his chair and gave an aloof sneer as lady luck smiled on him once more. The younger boy leant forward and snatched up the card in order to examine it more closely. His smile faded and he, turning away from the other, flicked it into the fire. Turning back, he placed his pipe in his mouth and lit it. The boy opposite was now beginning to get annoyed at his partner's casualness and his protracted actions.

"Have done with it. Put another down!"

The boy glanced over at his stack and seemed to be wondering what to do. After a lengthened pause, he took up a card and held it close to his eyes. A grin spread across his countenance and he pulled out the pipe, which he had stuck between his teeth. He smacked the card down upon the wooden surface.

"Ha! A knave! You'll hafta do better than that! Ha, ha, ha!" He clapped his hands together with glee and almost toppled over backwards in his chair. Catching himself, just before spilling over, he leant forward and swiped his opponent's hat clean off his head.

The Dodger (as he was known) gave his assailant a quick hit with his fist. After doing so, he stood up and pointed over to a chest of drawers. "Go on!"

Charley got to his feet, a crimson river flowing down from his nose. He stared down at the ground and made his way forward. Dodger kicked him from behind as a reinforcement to move faster.

Charley gave a slight squeal, but, none-the-less, staggered over to the chest and managed to pull out one of the drawers without any more abuse.

Dodge's steady gaze fixated on a dusty, green box, which Charley had previously procured. He tore it from his friend's grip and set it down upon the table. Pulling a candle close, he opened it and peered inside.

Charley came over and sat back down again. He wiped his nose, then took up his pipe and began to refill it. He ignored the fact that his friend was now in terrible danger of being banished or beaten by the owner of the box.

Several gold, silver, and pearl necklaces were extracted before Dodge seemed to find what he was seeking. He lifted out a ruby choker and examined it.

"Is that right?" asked Charley.

His friend nodded and placed the choker down one of the deep pockets in his coat. He then stowed away the box as quick as lightning. His friend continued to stare at him, an expression of concern upon his face.

"I should give it to her tomorrow?" asked Charley after taking a few puffs from his pipe.

"Yeah. She'll be rather in a better mood tomorrow. Besides, how could she not be with that around her neck?"

"What if . . .?"

"He'll just hafta deal. We do enough work anyway - might as well get something for it," he snorted in disgust and then headed for the door.

Charley, expecting this move, got up and swiftly placed himself in front of the door before Dodge could turn the knob. He looked his friend in the eye and said, "I won the bet. I get to do it!"

"Oh no! You knocked off my 'at an' no one does that!" Dodge pushed Charley aside and then gave him another quick kick in the shins. "Besides, she's mine; I saw her first!" with that, he left the room and locked his friend in.

"That does it!" cried Charley through the door. "I've had it with yer! I'll make you wish you were never born!" (Bang! Bang! Bang!)

The noise caused by Charley's clenched fists slamming against the door could be heard quite clearly as Dodge went down the small staircase to the street-door. He took a glance back up the steps and then shook his head in a melancholy manner. His colleague could be quite pathetic at different instances and this was one of them. Surely he knew that he was not locked in forever. Either way, an old Jew, who shared the quarters with them, would, no doubt, let him out if Dodge failed to do so.

Another exclamation came down the stairwell at that instant.

"I'll tell Fagin that you took one o' his treasures!"

Dodge paused on the landing and felt his heart beat louder than ever. His mind wandered in an anxious manner and his mouth felt dry. Being now quite scared, he walked slowly back up the stairs and put his eye to the keyhole. Charley was seated on the ground with his back resting against the door. His head was slightly blocking the view into the room and he was whispering as many different appalling exclamations as his vocabulary possessed, which was no small amount.

Dodge straightened himself and turned the key in the keyhole. A clicking sound was heard and Charley got to his feet. Dodge let the door swing open of it's own accord. He faced Charley and grinned.

Charley did not return the favor, but met it with a cold stare. He crossed his arms, turned, and walked away toward the window.

Dodge followed and tried to make up an apology. "Sorry, just a joke, Charley. You like jokes."

His friend cursed at him again and then mumbled, "Was not - just a joke, my foot. Such a liar."

"I swear it, Charley!" Dodge raised his voice.

Charley spun around and spat back, "Liar! You were going to steal the girl that I want. Well, I don't care; I'm still telling Fagin!"

"Not if I put it back!" Dodge darted over to the drawer and, not finding the box within, questioned Charley.

"Where is it?"

"What?" Charley was walking along the far wall, picking at the crumbly wallpaper that covered every inch of the dilapidated room.

"Where is it?!"

"I am sorry, my good sir," Charley continued to pace. "I am sure that I am not following you."

"You are too! The box, Charley - Fagin's box! You hid it and I know it is somewhere in here! I intend to find it."

"Fine," Charley pulled out his pipe, lit it, and took a long inhale. Next, he quietly went over to the window and crouched up on the sill.

Dodge began to tear the room apart. He pulled open drawers, overturned furniture, tapped the walls, and took down all the paintings, thinking that there could possibly be some sort of trap door underneath. Finding nothing, he stopped, panting in a heat of anxiety, and implored Charley to tell him where the box was placed.

"Please, Charley . . . just tell me. I will give you something . . ."

Charley looked over at Dodge in disinterest and dumped the ashes from his pipe onto the floor.

"Charley! Please . . ," Dodge crawled across the room in dismay and stopped once he got near his friends feet.

Charley dumped a bit more of his ashes, purposefully on the top of Dodge's hat.

That was all that Dodge could take. Within seconds, he and Charley were locked and rolling across the floor. They went from one end of the room to another, all the while punching and kicking each other in turn. After several minutes of continued fury, the fight stopped abruptly when Charley flung Dodge off himself, causing Dodge to hit his head against a desk.

Charley stepped back, terrified, to stare at his friend's bleeding form. In the sudden stillness, there was the sound of a door opening below.

Not knowing what exactly to do. Charley ran out into the hallway, shouting.

"Fagin! Fagin! Fagin!!"

There was a raspy exclamation of "Charley!" from down below. Charley peered down over the railing and watched as the decrepit Jew made his way up the stairs.

Charley ran back into the room and Fagin followed, walking at a slow pace. Once the Jew saw Dodge, he stepped back a bit in astonishment. "Charley . . ."

"I found him like this," Charley lied. "The room was like this when I came in."

The Jew eyed Charley for an instant, then turned his narrow eyes to peer about the room. In all this time, he did not make any sort of move; he didn't even turn his head.

Charley was worried. Knowing that Fagin was truly more interested in his own affairs - the main one being the box, he got onto the floor, next to his friend, and checked to make sure he was still alive.

Fagin, taking the time to look down at his protégé, remarked that Dodge should be moved to the room down the hall. Charley, knowing that this notion was being used as a diversion, went along with it in a way that showed he was unaware of the fact. He grabbed Dodge under the arms and dragged him out of the room.

Meanwhile, he listened intently for the sounds of the Jew searching the room. There was a shuffling noise after a moment and then several drawers were pulled out, giving the unmistakable sound of wood scraping wood.

Charley, focused his attention back on Dodge. He placed him on top of a pile of dirty rags and went to fetch a bit of whisky from a cabinet below.

As he searched for the amber liquid, there was a harsh cry from above. Charley knew instantly that it had come from the Jew; he had realized that his box was gone. Charley now felt a chill run up his spine. He fingered around in the half-dark and found a small, glass bottle. He lifted it up in front of the window and was able to obtain just enough information to decipher that it was indeed what he had been searching for. He noted that as he held up the bottle, his hand shook a bit. Now, more aware of his nervous condition than before, he made his way back upstairs.

Fagin was standing on the upper landing and appeared not to notice Charley as he approached. The Jew was gazing absent-mindedly down toward the darkness below. His eyes were glassy, yet there seemed to be a fire kindled inside that made them glow with a brown and red fire. He was mumbling to himself in a feverish state and gripped the banister so hard that the veins in his hands seemed to bulge from under his pale skin.

Charley stepped quietly by him and entered the bedroom into which he had placed Dodge. As he passed through the doorway, he turned his gaze to look at his reflection in a mirror upon the left wall. He looked for only an instant, but that was all he needed. His eyes stared back at him, round, glassy, and pale. His face was white and all the blood seemed to have drained from it onto his clothing. He was covered in flecks of blood. It glistened on his blue coat. Now, this was the reason that the Jew had stared at him.

His heart beat quickened and he felt his breathing become quite shallow. The Jew was known for cleverness and an innate ability to read between the lines in situations. Charley considered this for a moment. After some time, he came to the conclusion that Fagin had no suspicion of his being the attacker. Otherwise, the Jew would have, undoubtedly, chastised him for his wrongdoing. Dodge was his favorite pupil and anyone who was bold enough to overtake him would surely receive a bountiful amount of the Jew's rage or otherwise cause the old man to be so fearful as to run away.

Charley turned around and found that Fagin was still clinging to the staircase and that his body was leant against it in mourning for his loss and depraved consideration of what must be done next. Charley then turned back to look at Dodge. His friend had lost his hat somewhere in the beginning of their tussle and Charley was a bit surprised, or maybe uneasy, because he was unused to seeing the top of his friend's head. This time though, was worse for Charley. Dodge's head had a good-sized cut across it and there was blood flowing down his forehead in small rivulets. Charley grabbed one of the old rags and dampened it with some of the whisky. He then rubbed it across Dodge's head. Once most of the blood had been washed away, he pressed the rag to the wound, trying to clot it.

After a couple of minutes, he placed another rag on top, wrapped a long strip around his friend's head, and then propped it up under a pillow. All the time, Dodge had not moved or made a sound, but he was still alive. His heart was beating and he was breathing normally.

Charley now had the time to relax and to think things through properly. He had stolen and hid Fagin's treasure, had knocked out Dodge, and then had lied and blamed the whole thing on some other unknown person or persons. He didn't dare tell the truth to Fagin and he didn't dare leave Dodge alone; for he worried that he might tell Fagin the truth once he awoke. But Charley did have a plan for that and it was quite simple. He would propose to Dodge that they split the treasure. That would keep Dodge quiet and everything would go back to normal.

Charley sat down in the corner and pulled out his pipe once more. He had no more snuff in his pocket, but he still liked the comfort of feeling the thin clay between his teeth.

Now was the time that Charley came upon a strange, yet undeniable, fact. He had burglarized his boss's house. Even Bill Sikes had never done that! Charley pulled the pipe out of his mouth and stared out into the darkness. It would probably be the greatest feat of his life and yet, he could never tell anyone but Dodge. A sigh came to his lips and he realized for the first time, that Fagin was no longer standing outside on the landing. Charley shook his head and closed his eyes. The Jew had probably left the house and would not be back til daybreak. That was fine as far as Charley was concerned. In fact, he liked it better when the old man was gone. He only wished that Dodge would wake up. They could make a break for it. All he had to do was go into the other room and get the box out from underneath one of the floor-boards; along with his other treasures - which he also kept safely hidden there.

The loose floor-board had been a secret of Charley's for several years. He had discovered it during his second year of living with Dodge and the Jew. He had stumbled upon it during an afternoon in which he had been locked in as punishment for retaining several items that were ultimately supposed to be offered to Fagin, in keeping with the regular business.

After being in the room for several hours, he began to pace back and forth. During this time, he noted that one of the boards creaked ominously loud. Charley got down onto his knees and looked at the board. It had no nails in it, although there were holes where four had once been. He lifted the plank and found a thin space between two of the floor studs. It was empty except for some rat remains and sawdust. Also, it was lined at the bottom by wood and plaster; the ceiling of the room below. Charley found that this was an answer to his prayers. He could hide anything here. In fact, it was such a suitable location and obviously had never been noticed by anyone. Charley remembered reading a book once in which the main character hid a precious item. She placed it in the open and it was never noticed by the police. Basically an under-the-nose idea. He believed, at the time, that since the board was out in the open, it would not be noticed. He had been right. The last four years he had spent his life in a devotion to fill the hole with as many items as he could. If he stole three wallets, he would give two to the Jew and keep one to himself. If he stole six handkerchiefs, he would give four to the Jew and keep two for himself. In a way, it was a commission for his work.

By now, he had a good amount of savings. And now that he also could add on the Jew's box-full, he was a rich young man.

The darkness became deeper as Charley's mind was bent upon these things. He felt himself drifting off. The room became blurred as his lids closed down upon his eyes. He felt his arms collapse upon the floor and his head fall onto his shoulder. Voices came to his ears, but they were soft and far away. His last thought before he drifted off completely was: Bill is downstairs, talking to Fagin. And that was all.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

There was a loud moan and then the sound of fabric brushing the ground. Charley felt himself awake and the room came into focus. A candle had been lit out in the hallway, but the room was still dark. He looked back over to his right and saw something stirring on the floor. Feeling a sudden panic com over him, he jumped to his feet and backed away against the far wall. His heart pounded in his ears and the black heap upon the floor crawled towards him. Charley closed his eyes and imagined being attacked by giant spiders. He had had nightmares where such things had occurred.

The beast stopped short of Charley and groaned. Charley opened his eyes and the whole situation became as clear as glass. He had attacked Dodge. It was he who was crawling around the room. Charley sighed and tried to relax.

"Dodge?" he whispered into the darkness.

"Char - ow!" Dodge fell over on to his side and a thump was heard.

"Are you alright, Dodge. I'm sorry!" Charley didn't dare raise his voice. He knelt down on the floor to see what was going on.

Dodge had curled himself into a tight ball. "My head - Charley, what happened?" he spoke through clenched teeth and seemed to be in great pain.

"I accidently knocked you against a desk - I'm sorry, Dodge. But I have been waiting for you to wake up - I was worried. I have a surprise for you. I still have Fagin's box - we can split it. Even, fifty/fifty! I promise. Please don't tell - he'll kill me!"

Dodge raised himself up onto his hands and peered at Charley through the gloom. "You still have the box? Where at?"

"Under a floor-board. Come on, we can escape with it," He grabbed Dodge's hand and began to pull.

"Stop it, you dummy! Ow!" Charley let go and Dodge clutched his head in his hand. "Wait a minute and shut up!"

Charley fell silent and voices were heard below.

"It's Bill," whispered Dodge. "We can't go now, besides, I don't feel like running off right now, anyways." He moved away to a corner of the room and leant back against a wall. Charley stayed near the door, listening.

After a few minutes, Dodge's voice came from out of the gloom, "Go on. Yer might as well. Bring back a report."

Charley nodded, but did not look behind him. His eyes were focused solely on the stairway. He bent down and crawled on all fours to the first step. He looked down and saw candlelight drifting in from the kitchen on the main floor. It illuminated the dark entry with a yellow-orange glow and cast long shadows up the high walls and ceiling. Charley arose from the ground and stepped softly down a few more steps. He slipped his hand down the rail, in order to catch himself should he slip and he stayed on the right side of the steps, where they were less likely to creak.

He stopped halfway down and listened intently. Fagin's raspy voice could be heard.

"That's what you need to do . . . train him."

"An' hows that? Why don't yer get it done yerself?"

"Because it is delicate - a delicate situation. Something for your talents."

Fagin coughed for a moment. Then, he must have moved in front of the fire, for his shadow came crawling out into the entry. Charley felt his heart skip a beat and he retreated up a few steps.

Bill spoke, "Gettin' colder by the minute. Put another log on, will yer."

"Ah yes, only for you, Bill."

There was a shuffling sound and then the sound of a fist hitting a table.

"Yer think he's so dangerous, get rid o' him."

"He's worth too much, my dear," Charley could hear the leering scoff in the old Jew's voice.

"So what? Train him to plunder other estates that are nicer than yer own? Stupid . . ." Bill stopped short.

Fagin made some remark that was so quiet that Charley could not catch it.

"What abou' the other one? He's good enough to do it all."

"Peaching, peaching, remember that!"

"So they're a pair o' loafers - so what?"

"I want him trained, that's what!"

Silence prevailed for an instant and then Bill spoke once more.

"Why would he work that way? Supposin' he could steal from ev'ry house in London-way . . . what would he do? Give it to you - no."

"No, my dear, no? He will if I must cut him to get at it!" Fagin's voice had risen slightly, but he soon went back to a calm tone. "He will or else. Besides, I must - um - see to something important. Is Nance coming?"

"Yeah, she's coming."

"Good, good, good . . ."

"Just for tonight, though."

"Yes, my dear, just for tonight - ah - unless . . ."

"Unless, what?"

"Unless, I see fit for you to stay longer. In case I need more assistance - you would help me, wouldn't you, Bill?"

Bill grunted and then responded with a firm 'maybe.'

"Some tea then?"

Charley did not wait to listen to the rest of the conversation. He crept back upstairs and into the bedroom. He walked over to the dark heap in the corner. Dodge lifted his head and peered up at Charley. "So what?"

"Well, Fagin does know it's me . . . and he wants to train me to burglarize estates - or something. Bill wants to get rid of me, but he doesn't dare cross Fagin, so he's going along with it. Nancy is coming over to spend the night, along with Bill. Seems that they are supposed to help Fagin keep an eye on me."

Dodge grinned so widely that his expression could be seen in the dark, "Yeah, yer so dangerous, Charley! Well, maybe as long as you've got a desk or somethin' to kill yer victims with!"

"You're not dead, Dodge," Charley spoke in a very serious and soft voice.

"Of course! I'm joking, Charley! I'm not calling you a murderer. You'd never do that. It's not in your instincts."

"Maybe," Charley sat down upon the floor and thought. "You can have Elizabeth Drickford, if you want her. I don't care anymore."

"Charley! She's yours, you won. . . ." Dodges voice faded.

"Go ahead and take her," Charley persisted.

Dodge answered with a 'no' and shook his head in a pitying manner.

"Have you still got the ruby choker?" asked Charley after a thought.

Dodge fingered around in his pocket and felt the silver necklace. "Yeah, I've still got it - Here," he held it out and Charley took it.

"Fagin wants his box back," Charley replied, as though it was a well-kept secret.

"'Course he does," Dodge yawned. "It's his pride and joy."

"He says he'll get it back from me - even if he has to cut me for it . . ."

"Sounds like him. Don't worry about it. As long as he had Bill and Nance over - well, it's obvious what that means - he's scared enough that he doesn't want to be in the house alone with you. For all he knows, I'm still out dead-cold."

Charley nodded and then answered, "But you said that it was obvious that such actions were not normal for me. I'm not exactly the scariest person around, you know. Surely he knows that!"

"I don't know, Charley. He only sees you at dinner an' breakfast. He doesn't know you like I know you. All he sees is a joking boy who is apt to laugh at just about anything and who could possibly use such a personality to hide the real him - the one that wants to murder people for their belongings," Dodge finished in a very hushed tone.

Charley felt a shiver rise up his spine at this horrible description of himself. He moved closer to his friend and leant against the wall, his knees up and his feet flat on the ground. He stared ahead into the darkness and then spoke, just to change the subject. "You left your hat in the other room."

"Yeah, I figured. Gosh, I wish my 'ead would stop throbbing!"

"It was bleeding a bit. I washed it in whisky and tried to clot the cut . . . I haven't got anything proper like cocaine or somethin'."

"That would help. I used to have a bit in one of my snuff-boxes, but I lost it."

"Oh yeah, shame that."

They went silent for a time. The house had become extremely still and quiet.

Dodge arose after a while and began to pace the room in a seemingly anxious manner. He went over to the mirror to inspect his head for an instant and then he turned to face Charley, who had not moved in all the time that had lapsed. "Charley, you should put that choker away before it's taken off your person."

Charley got up off the floor and headed for the door. He paused for an instant and replied, "I'll get your hat, while I'm at it."

As Charley made his way down the hall, he heard a familiar voice. He looked over the railing and stared down into the face of Nancy. She was standing halfway up the staircase and her eyes stared up at him. She waved at him and then mounted the rest of the steps in silence.

Once up, she came close to Charley and whispered in his ear, "Where is Dodge?"

Charley pointed over to the bedroom at the far end of the hallway. Nancy nodded and then added, "I've got some stuff for him."

Charley nodded and then watched as the girl went away from him at a fast pace.

Now, he moved on to the room in which they had fought earlier. He looked about himself, worried that perhaps the old Jew had set some sort of trap for him. Furniture was still overturned as it had been, but the windows had been shut and the drapes had been drawn. The room was stuffy-smelling now and Charley wondered whether it was because of the heaviness of the air or his own worry that made breathing difficult.

He sneaked over to the middle of the room and squatted on the floor. He pulled up the plank of wood and placed the necklace within. He then replaced the board and went back to the bedroom, after first retrieving Dodge's hat.

Dodge was sitting quietly upon the floor once more and Nancy was busy coating his wound with some sort of substance. He winced a couple of times and the girl made remarks about his being 'difficult to work with.'

"Here's your hat," Charley handed it to Dodge.

"Thanks."

Nancy looked up and brushed some hair out of her eyes. "I'm almost finished," she whispered. She then eyed Charley with a very steady gaze and remarked casually, "So, are you gonna tell me where you hid it or not?"

Charley swallowed and then said, "Hid what?"

Nancy looked back up at him again and repeated, "Are you gonna tell me or not?"

Dodge made a quick movement with his hand. Nancy grabbed it and began to implore him to be still. "I am almost done! Stop it - you men are all such babies!"

Charley cleared his throat, "You're gonna tell Fagin, right . . . I mean - um."

He stopped short because Nancy had given him a very harsh glance. "Why would I do that?! I don't work for Fagin. I am trying to help you two idiots - if only, God help me, you would cooperate!"

Charley swallowed again and then said, "Sorry, Nance - um - I hid it under a floorboard."

"Well, is it easy to get to?" Nancy questioned sharply.

"Yes, it's easy to get to."

Nancy turned back to Dodge, "There, I'm done torturing you. Put your hat back on. I'm going back downstairs. Fagin and Bill are in the back room. I will go keep them busy. You two," she glared at them both, "You two can get out of here. Take the stuff and go. I don't care where to - just get yourselves out of here." She turned and walked out of the room and down the stairs.

Charley followed her, in order to listen to her retreating footsteps. Once, he believed that all was safe, he stole back to the other room and grabbed all his belongings.

Voices came from downstairs.

"Where were yer?!" Bill's tone was harsh.

"Getting together the rest of my things back home," answered Nancy with indifference.

"Now, Bill," Fagin had changed to a sugary simper. "No use getting in a mood - Nancy did nothing wrong . . ."

Bill grunted, but said nothing else.

"Wine, my dears?" Fagin spoke up.

"Why not have some, Bill?" Nancy persisted.

"Alright," There was the clink of glass and the popping sound of a cork being extracted from a bottle.

Charley darted back into the bedroom and found Dodge looking at his reflection in the mirror.

"Come on, Dodge!" Charley tapped him on the arm. "Nance has them all occupied. I got the stuff - let's go!"

Dodge hesitated, but then followed Charley out of the room.

They stepped cautiously down to the entryway. The light was still on in the kitchen, but there was no one about. They paused to listen to the conversation in the back room.

"Business is good as usual, my dear," Fagin was using his very pleasant, conversational tone this time.

"Good pickings? Dodger been hard at work?"

"Yes, my dear. As usual. Not much to say otherwise. At least about Dodge . . ."

The old Jew paused momentarily and then spoke to Bill. "Bill, why don't you go see how Charley is getting along . . ."

Dodge and Charley glanced hastily at one another and then darted for the door. There was no reason to hear any more of the conversation.

They ran down the staircase that led down into the alleyways and then flew, at high speed, down several streets. Neither of them took the time to look back until they had reached the safety of a small church.

They stopped, panting, and began to wander about the graveyard in back. It was empty, but a very good hiding place. They found a tall gravestone, flopped down into the tall grasses behind it, and opened the box. Dodge extracted several items and began to look closely at them.

"I can't see much, but it looks like you're rich," he put the items back in the box and then laid down flat upon the grass. "My 'ead feels a bit numb," he replied, seeing that Charley was going to stay silent. "It's that stuff Nance put on it - good thing my 'at covers it all. Say, Charley, I'm going to sleep."

"Me too. We can look at this stuff when the sun is up," Charley jumped up to his feet in sudden alarm after saying this.

"What's it now?"

"I feel I should get this stuff hid again," Charley explained. "I don't feel to relaxed about it - supposing Fagin or Bill show up."

"They won't!" Dodge closed his eyes in annoyance. "Relax will ya! Nance is taking the rap for it - as far as they know, we're gone for good. Besides, they would never come here; the police station is just down the way. Go to sleep. If you feel scared, cover it with grass or something."

Charley nodded and said, "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Dodge sighed and then added, "You're rich Charley!"

"No," Charley raised his head up and stared over at his friend. "We're both rich. Remember, I promised you half."

"You're such a terrible prig," Dodge grinned.

"Thanks," whispered Charley, recognizing the insult as a compliment on his generosity. He then fell silent and closed his eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

The church-bells began to chime. Charley and Dodge both lifted themselves up off the grass and yawned simultaneously.

"How'd you sleep?" Dodge asked, rubbing his eyes with his hand.

"Like a log sitting on some grass," Charley managed a grin.

Dodge shook his head, but did not respond to his friend's seemingly-stupid answer.

"Is it Sunday?" he asked instead.

Charley made a face and then replied that he reckoned so.

"What was that for?"

"I was thinking . . ."

"Yeah," Dodge had gotten the hint. "Grab the box and let's get out of here. Quickly!"

They scampered out of the churchyard and made their way to Market Street. There weren't that many people out and about that morning and the usual hustle and bustle of London had simmered down to a boring pace.

Dodge paused momentarily to steal a bran-loaf for breakfast. He hid it under his great-coat and the two of them went off to a desolate place to eat it.

"What are we to do now?" Charley voiced this concern while chewing. This rudeness annoyed Dodge and he frowned.

"How am I supposed to understand you when you've got somethin' in your mouth?!"

Charley paused mid-chew and gulped loudly. "Sorry, I . . ."

"I heard the question. What are we to do? Well, first we price some of this stuff an' then we sell a bit of it for some cash. Lastly, we spend it an' have a merry ol' time of it. What else are we supposed to do."

"I wanna put some of it in the bank," Charley whispered.

Dodge furrowed his brows, "Why? They're gonna ask where we got it from you ninny! People our ages don't usually have this sort of stuff!"

"Shhhhhh . . ," Charley looked about in a worried manner. "I just don't want anyone gettin' ahold of it - you understand . ."

"Yeah."

They both continued their breakfast in silence. Afterwards, Dodge opened up the box and extracted several items, including the ruby choker.

"Here," he handed the choker to Charley. "We should go to her residence an' you can give her that. Then, we can get rid of a couple other items an' go to the bar an' get some drinks an' maybe a bit of action."

"Alright. That sounds good. But, what are we supposed to do with the rest of the treasure?"

Dodge considered for an instant and then replied, "Put it somewhere where we can get at it without much trouble."

"Like . . ?"

"Hmm . . . . That Elizabeth seems quite trustworthy. I mean, she's a boring girl with morals . . ."

"Hey! She is not boring. Besides, you wanted her, too!"

"I know; I'm just being honest about her. She is a well-bread girl. Not like Nance or Bet. Anyway, we can ask her to keep it safe for us until we need to dig it out again."

Charley nodded and a grin spread across his face, "Should we head over to her house now?"

Dodge looked up at the sky and shook his head, "She won't be out of church yet."

Charley sighed in disappointment.

"We could still price some of this stuff," Dodge pulled out a pearl necklace. "How much would you say - twenty pounds?"

"Naw, thirty."

Dodge nodded in agreement and pulled up a pair of diamond earrings. "Fifty?" he asked.

"Make it sixty!" Charley took the earrings from his friend and looked at them closely. "These are really clean and shiny - worth a bunch!"

"Okay, how about this pocket watch?"

Charley examined it and announced, "Thirty-five pounds and two shillings."

"Alright. That should be more than enough. Let's head over to that pawn shop on Tenth. I don't want to go to Mr. Lively since he works for Fagin. Besides, we'll get more money since we won't be trading in the black market. Fagin only does that because he is constantly pawning things - it begins to look suspicious."

"Right."

"You know," Dodge spoke his thoughts aloud. "If we don't spend too much - well then, we could buy an apartment, entertain ladies all we want, an' live like princes."

Charley nodded and then added, "And get new clothes."

"Right and a carriage."

"And a maid."

Dodge laughed, which he did only ever so often, "You've got the idea Charley!"

They headed down several streets and finally arrived at Tenth Street. They went inside a small shop. The sign said "Chechslovn's" in fancy gold letters. Dodge stared at it for an instant and then replied, "How would you pronounce that?"

Charley wrinkled his nose and then said, "It's German - I think… Check-slov-en?"

"Maybe that's just the shop's name. Hopefully whoever's inside is named Smith," Dodge opened the door and led the way inside, removing his hat as he did so.

A woman was seated in the corner. She looked to be in her latter forties. She had her legs crossed at the ankle and her fingers moved quickly over a row of knitting that was situated on her lap. Here face was creased as she peered down at her work.

Dodge coughed. The woman raised up her head with a jerk. "Yes, young man?"

"We were wondering how much.."

She interrupted him, "What has happened to you?"

Dodge stared. Charley touched him in the arm and pointed to his head.

"Oh, that. I banged it, ma'am."

She arose and, dropping her knitting onto the chair, came close to inspect the wound closer. "Good God, boy!" she exclaimed in a husky voice that raised to a squeal towards the end of the sentence. "And what is it you want?"

Dodge stepped back and pulled out the items. "How much could you give us for these?"

She paused for an instant and adjusted her purple bonnet. "I would not exactly know," she took up the objects and weighed them in her hands. "My husband is not here right now. He's at church. I'd be there myself, but our son is in bed ill with a fever. I just forgot to lock the door." She gave a small wink.

Charley spoke up, "We think that they're worth about a hundred an' twenty-five pounds."

The woman's eyes widened, "I am sure not, my young sirs! Why I could give you fifty at most. Now, if you will excuse me for an instant - I must go check up on poor li'l Landon." With that, she turned and exited up a tiny flight of stairs at the back of the shop.

Dodge scowled. "Negotiatin', that's what's up 'ere!" he looked at Charley.

Charley shook his head.

"Do ya think that they really have a son? I bet not!"

At that moment a howl was heard upstairs. Dodge scowled up at the ceiling as though angry at it for defying him. "Okay, so maybe there is a son, but this stuff is worth a lot more than fifty pounds!"

Charley looked down at the floor, "She still has our jewelry…"

"Darn! That woman!" Dodge was in no mood to be parleyed with. He stuffed his hands in his pocket and went up the stairs.

"Dodge!" Charley whispered as he paused at the bottom of the staircase. Dodge ignored him and, turning a sharp corner, went out of sight.

He reached the top and found that it opened onto a loft. It had been converted to a master bedroom. There was a canopy bed with blue velvet curtains. The woman was sitting in a chair before a vanity. She was holding a little boy in her arms. He was whimpering as she sang to him in a soft alto. Dodge walked over and a meek expression crossed her face. "I am trying to get him to go back to sleep," she explained.

"Yeah," Dodge did not smile. "If you're not gonna give us at least a hundred, then we want our stuff back!"

"I am sorry. Here, you can have it back. I forgot. What about seventy-five?"

"Nothin' less than a hundred. If you haven't got it, lady, then we'll take our business elsewhere…"

She gave him a melancholy stare. "Really, I could not give you a penny. Business is bad..," she kissed her son. "My husband is in prison right now and I am trying to sell things…"

Dodge did not want to listen to any more of it. He left her abruptly and went down the stairs. Finding Charley, enticed by a brown coat that was hung from a rack, he stopped short. "Just take it," he mumbled.

"What?"

"The coat. Nice is it? Take it. We're gonna get something for this," he placed the items on the chair in the corner.

"You mean a trade?"

"Yeah. Besides, you need a better jacket. Now, grab it and let's get out of here!"

"I feel a bit bad about this," Charley commented after they had been walking in silence for a while.

"It was an even trade! Shut up about it. It probably wasn't a true story anyways…How are we supposed to make any money at this rate?"

"But you don't know."

Dodge spat on the ground in annoyance. "Change of subject," he announced. "Lets head over to Elizabeth's. She should be home by now."


End file.
